​You – You cannot deny the fact that it was you 

who turned your gaze towards my expectant 

cadaver eyes hoping for an excited reactory 

glance before introducing yourself during our 

very first dance – Yes it was you unwrapping 

my decaying captured heart to beat once again 

for a chance at eternal happiness after a lifetime 

in my self-inflicted sarcophagus hollow loveless abyss. 

It has always been only you for me, how you completed 

me revived me breathed new life into me, so if I seem 

agitated even emotionally intoxicated it is because of you! 

How dare you treat me this way? Turning your dulled gaze 

away from my healing halo telling me to take it slow – 

“Shut up! Get out before I eternally end this for both our sakes!” 


Me – I agree, if it was not for you I would probably have withered 

into nothingness, so I confess – I love you no less than that bright 

eclipse moment you shone your radiating light on me. You gave me 

the spark of life after a lifetime of strife and disintegrating porous life 

but you now pierce me with shards of discontent and knife edge spiteful 

doomed fate of imprisoned fake love. “I hate you I love you I despise you 

I adore you... I curse you!” 


Us – I used to imagine the utopian idea of us but your image has turned 

into charred ash raining down onto the memory of us. 

You destroyed the potential of us the reality of us 

the mystery of us the allure of us the success of us 

the power of us the fire and ice of us – 

But we will never again be us... 

​Blanc – White, the color of pure love for a mother a father a brother a sister a carer even a guardian – That inner feeling of radiating love from a place we still do not know the origin of but which we all share, well that is what we hope to believe as part of a human race quality and yet the reality is that some of us just do not have the capacity to love or offer love or be loved for reasons we might not like or know but as a global citizen each one of us come from love is inspired by love witness love imagine love want to be loved and attempt to love. 


Noir – Black, the color of twisted love forcing another to submit his or her essence to unknown expectations outbursts insecurity unrealistic hopes and fears, imprisoning a heart willing to give love share love and develop love unconditionally yet ending up having to offer only dagger smiles and cadaver stares whilst decomposing from within and morphing into a living statue to be stared at chipped away and altered whilst simultaneously presented for public viewing now and then, dressed up propped up polished and told to shut up smile and pretend... 


Jaune – Yellow, the color of love for a dear friend like a sunrise even a sunset warming your heart and soul without knowing how or why but certainly sure of the fact that when that person enters your essence and personal halo their hello could be all that is needed to calm you uplift you even save you from the darts of life – Such love is truly unique but when it is tainted by the jealousy of others the wrath of others the insecurity of others even scorned lovers, the separation is more damning than losing a loved one who you have known from birth almost like a part of your soul gets chipped away with only poignant memories remaining of a love so unique it never truly dies within the cavities of your memories. 


Rouge – Red, the color of love scorned withered punctured betrayed insulted and ultimately left to die in a writhing pool of deceit insincerity falsehood misunderstanding and emotional decay seeping out into the lake of unrequited love, there to dry up and evaporate into the indigo sky of nothingness with just echoes of lamenting sound waves haunting a galaxy yet to be discovered. 


Vert – Green, the love of nature daily witnessing the awe and wonder of flora and fauna healing our inner daily turmoil for some even therapeutic a kind of necessary magic soothing our inner demons keeping them at bay at the gates of our brittle psyche. 


Bleu – Blue, the color of love for the Divine, of creation or revelations of a spiritual kind, of signs of life in the hereafter, of a different soul sanctuary preached about since time began but in the end it will be a case of personal deep inner reflection and revelatory and sincere offered prayers by each and every one of us in our destined search for an existence beyond this earthly life no matter what nationality mentality or fatality... 

​You might somehow be aware that we actually exist 

or vaguely familiar of our rumoured urban myth yet 

you could not care any less as you embark on your daily 

expected cadaver march to earn what you call 'an honest 

living' as you bow down to your corporate earthly masters 

flashing dagger smiles to falsely impress even morally regress 

in the name of financial advancement, like baying wolves gnashing 

tearing others apart just to impress a supervisor a team leader 

in a daily macabre sickening survival immoral feast in order to 

feed your own hidden selfish insatiable beast – 


You walked past me once as I stretched out my shameful 

undernourished discoloured hand. I could hear your sharp 

dismissive intake of breath, your pursed lips so tight I could 

smell the drop of blood as you prayed for the traffic light 

to go green to allow my stench to seep out of your precious 

halo – Leaving me to shrink in the shadows of your elitist 

footsteps to remain invisible unspoken of dismissed silenced 

cut off, deleted hoping that my existence bleeds down into 

the sidewalk cracks, feeding the rats of disdain and provide 

bitter molasses for the dregs of society trapped deep inside 

the slimy halls of success as our hopeless screams rise up 

only to escape as hissing steam spitting choking volcanic 

smoke to further rise beyond this earthly existence where 

you cover up the soot and reminiscence of us with fake 

skin products to hide your nightmare down demon alley 

at night where we chase you around before letting you 

slip back into your cosy doomed rotten flaking lives – 


You blind yourself to our needs as you uncover the selfish 

deeds of your kind not really that kind but you are too weak 

to fight for the social justice we seek so our plight remain 

existential as you still choose to ignore the existence of 

an invisible nation suffering from your cleverly orchestrated 

annihilation... 

Trees sway as if in

Secret desire; she

Tosses in the bed,

Body burning; roiling

Blood galloping

In the vein. Deep

Hot breath scorching

The nostrils. Heart

Pumping fast.

Melody of the night.

Nocturnal birds

Flying across the

Horizon, Alone she

Succumbs to sleep

Hand clutching the

Breast; a deep sigh

That uprooted the

Swaying trees of desire,

Escapes unheard.


​

Like butterflies over the

Sunflower, like a white

Beam of sunrays reflected

In the stilly ocean…

Your smile eclipses

The mid-day sun.


The rows of white teeth,

The curves at the corner

Of your lips, your nose

Moistened by the

Glowing noon heat – all

Paint a picture of absolute

Nothingness, a void

Unsurmountable to me,

As if a dream-broken sleep

Creeping down the

Crevices of the night

Yearning to be with

The morrow, like a butterfly

Desiring to reach the stars.


You are so near, yet so far

Away from my being,

My sensibility stirred

I wait for the bones

To crack and rain moisten

The dry crumbs of loose

Earth flying in the air.


To dust when I shall

Return, I will pray

For your presence

In another earth, where

There will be no butterflies

To rival your smiling face.
​

Woman: Do you know who he was?

Do you know

What he looked

Like?

Do you know

What he loved?

Do you know

How he loved?


Do you know

His touch

His embrace

His cravings

His desire

His lust

His fulfillment…?


Do you know?

Do you know?


Man: Why should I?


Girl: Love’s lost… Love’s found…?


Man: Why compare? … Why expect…?

Replacements, not available!
​

​3 Am Nightmares 
Strong Wine
The Shape of History
Yesterday Morning
God Calls the Grimm Reaper

​The bewitching hour
When the wild things come out
And play
 
And torture you
With endless wild accusations
And nightmarish visions
 
As I toss and turn
Trying to escape
 
I look over at my wife
And as always
Repeat the matra
Everything will be alright
 
And the wild things are banished
To the dark corners of my mind
 
And I recover my happiness
And I smile
As I look at the sleeping beauty
 
Still the most beautiful women in the world
Still the most alluring women in the world
 
Still in love with her
After 35 years
 
The love gets stronger and stronger
As she overcomes my despair
 
And the sun comes up
And I think to myself
 
What a wonderful life I have
With the women of my dreams
 

​One night
I was starring
In my wine glass
 
Deep in thought
When I saw
Something in my wine
That haunts me still
 
I saw in the bottom of the glass
Evil dooers abandon evil
And became saints
 
I saw rich men give up
Their awesome greed
And poor people
Awarded dignity
 
And all men
Became brothers
 
All women
Became sisters
 
And war ended once and for all
And peace broke out
And hatred disappear
 
And I stared
Into my glass wine
 
I drink the wine
Hoping the vision
 
Would infect me
And change the world
 
But alas the world
Remained the same
 
The evil dooers came back
The rich continued to conspire
And the poor still remained poor
And the war continued on and on
 
So I drank my wine
And went to sleep

​Once I too had ambition
I had the usual dreams of glory and grandeur
All I wanted to be was to be a great creative genius
Only I did not know
How to kiss ass creatively
 
Once I had dreams of greatness
I would be glorious and free
All would envy and admire
This man so noble and great
Now I am tied down in mirthless mire
 
Once I hustled
Once I took no shit from anyone
Once I wanted the universe
 
Now I am contended to shit
And refuse to bustle
Why bother anymore
 
In the gathering gloom
Of the foreseeable future
 
One thing is certain
I do not want a room
 
On the scrap heap of society
And yet that might be my fate
 

​Yesterday morning, I awoke                                                                
Like most mornings
 
I was still dead I walked
Out of my drug infested slum
Into my computerized car
Down the freeways of my mind
Searching for the pot of golden dreams
 
I stopped in at a Restaurant
Drank copious amounts of free coffee
And saw all the people
 
One by one disappearing into the crowds
All I knew was wrong
 
Or worst yet a figment of your imagination
Every person changed
Transformed into an interchangeable computer's robot
 
All the same
All the same
 
Everything living in instant suburbia
Moving their meaningless life
 
All the same all the same
Not me screamed my coffee as I sat
Yet another victim
Of our creeping collective insanity
 
Just cogs in the wheel
Cogs in the wheel
 
And so I go down the road
And get in line
 

​God is in his cosmic control room
The ultimate situation room
Where here he watches over mankind 24/7
 
One day he reads
About protesters
Protesting the operation of Emergency helicopters
 
Because they’re too noisy
they stir up dust
and damage their properties
 
And are just inconvenient as hell
just too bloody inconvenient
 
the protestors are demanding
that the helicopters be grounded
 
Disregarding the fact
That they save lives
Given the hellish traffic conditions
 
God is furious at the callous attitude
The casual disregard for human life
 And the pettiness of the protesters
 
He calls up his chief angels
And reads them the recent articles
 
All of the angels
Are furious at the callous attitudes of the protesters
 
God calls the grim reaper
His contractor who handles the details of death
God says I have a commission for you
The Grim reaper had read the article
 
As he too monitor the world 24/7
 
He laughs
and says I know what to do
 Obviously they all have to die
In an horrific accident
 
and can’t get to the hospital in time
Because they are stuck in traffic
 
Now you're talking God said
But I want you to break protocol
 Just before they die show up
 
And explain to them why
They are about to die
 
That would be poetic justice God said
And you know I’m all about that
 
Everyone laughs
God has a sense of humor after all
 
The grim reaper mordantly salutes the boss
And goes about his grim task
 

My eyes
still hear your tongue.
sprawled out
on faded parchment.
Pinned
to a card stock--
butterfly under the microscope.
 
an inked out body
could caress my cheek
with the hand
that holds the pen.
 
they came with the rain at first,
that a loaded envelope
could wake me up in a morning--
a quill marked kiss each night.
 
now they Stop.
 
I run to a metal casket
Marked 252.
to pry it open; empty
and leave my confidence with you.
 
Now, with ribbon skewed door.
Heart; a puddle in my hands.
i hold each letter
returned
to mailbox 252.

​Staring forward
through rearview mirrors.
Trapped, standing,
still in fresh bedded cement.
 
Veneer drops.
but unsurprised at rain
Falling skyward.
heaven yawning back.
 
Skyscraper sleep
Obscure in coal soul-black
bed sheets
fresh pressed by the illusive maid.
 
Green, Red, Green, Stop
Crowded loneliness
this very concrete.
Unreal City.

​Hold your breath--
 
After the water extinguishes your noise
and tears make tide rise higher
Pressure like a brain in a plunger
‘till every sound drowned out
and you still can’t hear the danger
 
Hold your breath--
 
When arms strike out and stop instead
and weightlessness weigh down your head
can’t think, but sink to crash slow motion
Marionette, your strings beyond extended reach
to open skyed ceiling and front row seating
this gaping Stage, your swallowed ocean
 
—Hold your breath
 
‘cause dolls
can’t
breathe.
 

​You did not learn this ache from me
says, my mother,
as I rip open my heart
turn back my eyelids to
show her the redness of my eyes
and the blackness of the heart
I'm carrying within
 
You did not get those scars from me
when I show her the
unforgiving lines on my back
those darkened lines of pains left by
his hateful hands
 
You did not learn this tongue from me
when I scream and screech
the thousand times in my muted heart
burned and charred
a million times
every time he calls me
"my favorite child"
 
You did not get this heart from me
when I break my lover's heart
into million pieces
running feverishly from the commitment
every time I see that glance in their
lustful eyes
 
You are not part of me
she says with
pain seared across his
heaving chest
and living loosely in her
wrinkles and the crow's feet
pain ripping her apart
every time she sees
the demon rising in me

​The emptiness and the darkness of my soul
can't be doused with me
swallowing and gulping down a
fistful of fireflies,
like the burning of the thousand suns
like a remorse of the old forgetful memory
now marking its presence on your skin and
picking at your scab
the happiness and cheerfulness in my heart  is
as lively as the morning of a funeral day
there is so much commotion
and so much cacophony
I have always looked at the pond
and amazed by its
ability to
camouflage life and death
at its sinking bottom
the ripples that are made by the lively insects
it catches your attention here and there
like the glimmering flight of lights
in my ashen eyes
visible for a moment
and then lost again
and all of a sudden
a frog gulps the dragonfly
resting on the edge of bent weed
mocking the serenity of the pond
and everything goes still again
till the next ripple,
till the next memory.
 

On a hot July day, away from 
The lanes of death, the forest 
Of Grief, the pious 
 
Piffle, the marching boots, he sat 
In a colourful Shikara, rowing 
through Dal Lake, through  
 
Floating gardens,
Moored houseboats, 
Memory lanes.
 
He saw the reflections of a mountain, 
A temple, a fort, a mosque; 
All floating in the water.
 
He saw the gleams of light, reflecting 
From the droplets of water,
All studded, like diamonds, on the lotus leaves.


He saw a timorous 
Mind, a fluttering heart,
A closed chest,  slowly 


Relaxing, slowly Illuminating, 
With a clarity, with a
Cosmic stillness.

​When I judge myself 
When I judge others
When I am oblivious
Of my thoughts
My emotions 
My senses  
And actions. When I live
In my future, in my past. 
When I ignore my present. When 
I intoxicate air by complaining
By comparing
By criticising. When I am 
Unforgiving 
Ungrateful 
Unkind 
And wrapped up in myself
I create a royal road to my misery. 



(Mindfulness)
 
 

​I love dreaming about 
A place, Pahalgam, where I sat
Along the river, whispered 
With the friendly breezes.
 
Where I, burnt memories into 
The hardware of my brain, walked 
In the company of my dreams, discovered 
The face of peace, looked at 


The fluttering wings of butterflies. 
I still hear, the soulful, music of Liddar river, 
That symphony of our tolerance.
I remember, a forest, collecting 


Pine cones as souvenirs, galloping 
A white horse in a meadow, sitting 
On river boulders, dipping
My feet in the river, when 


No one chained our steps. 
I recall, across the oceans, everything:
The sweet delights of life, camping 
In our Eden, shuffling 


Cards of happiness, the comradeship, 
The aroma of saffron Kehwa, 
A neighing horse calling 
"I am here, where are you?" 


I love to return to that magical place, the gateway 
To the cave of a deity, when 
No wailing echoes from its valleys,
When no grief plays on its flute. 
 
One day we will sit, along the Liddar, breathing 
An air of safety, under 
A white moon. Until then, we shall carry the sack 
Of our dreams on our shoulders.

​John J. Ronan is a poet, playwright, movie/TV producer, and journalist.  He has received national honors for his poetry and is a former NEA Fellow, Ucross Fellow, Bread Loaf Scholar, and Poet Laureate in Gloucester, MA, where his cable program The Writer’s Block with John Ronan is in its 27th year. Poems have appeared in Three Penny Review, New England Review, Southern Poetry Review, New York Quarterly, Folio, and many other publications.  Media productions have won a Telly, an Aurora Gold, a First for Education Programming from the NECTA, as well as other awards, and have been aired on PBS outlets.  In 2010 his book of poetry, Marrowbone Lane, was named a Highly Recommended selection by the Boston Authors Club.  A new volume, Taking the Train of Singularity South from Midtown, appeared in January 2017.  (TheRonan.org)

​Sans sensitivity, the cravings are o.k.,
Seldom  affected by the latest allergy fad.
Those days, I’ll eat peanut butter freely:
Pb & j, Abba-Zabbas,
Reese’s, or dosed by spoon, a dab-and-jam
Pb & j – hold the bread.
No paranoid, epi-pen dread!
 
Early exposure to dander and dogshit generally
Assure immunity to snowflake anxieties:
Soy and safe places, tobacco nannies,
Dries, the curse of the dirtless clean cut.
Those nights, ignoring calorie cops, I’ll dine
On rye whiskey and red meat, caviar,
And après dessert, untroubled, smoke a cigar.
 

​An innocent start, the to and fro
Of borrowed tools, pies and preserves, 
warm welcomes by hosts or visitors.
 
A suburban summer: liturgy of the grill -
K-bobs and dogs, beer,
Games of charades, popcorn, film -
 
Midge and I, Deb and Rob
A naive rom-com of chatter
And laughs, sound track rock.
 
Only now and then hedged
By humdrum - lawn care
And the kids, diets, mortgages, marriage,
 
Gentle collisions out of a blue
Guessing silence, and tipsy turns
Of genre to simpler equipment, truth.
 
Never a question of blame, unless
Hollywood itself, bluff constructor
Of love and tinsel, its necessary distance.
 
 

​Can you imagine they do?
 
The arid librarian or stock broker, your cold,
Distant surgeon, his no-nonsense nurse,
Proud prelates, habited nuns in heat,
The unsmiling teller, morose jumpsuit couples,
Your fence neighbor, a common scold, weeding…
 
The eyes rolled white, the self given
Over to minutes of innocence, the two-backed
Seizure and trespass, urgent under, on top,
In secret, unique illusion of blank gasp
And spasm, don’t stop, don’t stop…
 
They do.  It’s just not you.
 
 

​Main Street’s a Cheese Shoppe,
Galleries, and a bright brew pub
Featuring pumpkin harvest ale,
Free-range chicken, and kale.
A retro pharmacy with show globes.
The state bank.  Beyond Bordeaux.
Your candles-only.  Your soap-only:
Bricks spiked with pumice and coffee,
Angles cut  in the chic but cruel
Way that marks artful vertu.
                                    
Nothing you need.  No hardware,
No grocery or dime store.
No lumber, gravel, or paint,
Nothing to suggest sweat, like the ancient
Ford Escorts and Crown Vics
That appear weekday mornings to construct
Or plumb, clean and leaf blow.
Jesús.  Mary Kay.  Futbol!    
No Pilates or favorite famines,
Peace on Earth, blissful chickens.
 
In the strip mall south of town,
Distressed denim, cell phones,
And our single Big Box, next
To a ten-screen  - triple X,
Noir at night, G matinees.
A JP and gaming arcade,
The Beer ‘n Booze drive-thru.
Free piercing with large tattoos,
Urgent Care and Candy’s Bar,
A copy center, the Mattress Mart.
 
 

Sibanda is the author of Love O’clock, The Dead Must Be Sobbing and Football of Fools.
Ndaba Sibanda`s work is featured in The New Shoots Anthology, The Van Gogh Anthology edited by Catfish McDaris and Dr. Marc Pietrzykowski, Eternal Snow, A Worldwide Anthology of One Hundred Poetic Intersections with Himalayan Poet Yuyutsu RD Sharma scheduled for publication in Spring/Summer 2017 by Nirala Press and Seeing Beyond the Surface Volume II.

​In Yenagoa a craftsman was born  
His was a career that flourished 
And flew beyond Nigerian literature
In 1964 the world woke up to The Voice
A voice, thundery in imagery and breadth 
It rained a profusion of artistry and insight  
In verse it soon sounded, stirred and starred    
In 1979 The Fishermen`s Invocation caught
The eye of the Commonwealth Poetry Prize  
Even today it thunders with a great fondness 
Its charm and allure transcends tongues & ages
His Piano and Drums are still relevant as if recent    
In poetry and prose his voice is an authority, a beauty
For the voices of literary lions roar and radiate into infinity
Gabriel Imomotimi Gbainbain Okara, rest in literary prosperity

​Have you ever had the pleasure of observing 
the behavior of the wild—the elephants--
in their natural habitat? A lumbering spectacle! 

Have you ever had a desire to hang out with guys
like the turtle? Chatting with her, taking her to lunch-- 
perhaps, feeding and cleaning her. That would be great!

Perhaps dear turtle would start to open up a bit. Thanks 
for the wonderful meal and bath. Please, please protect me 
from predators. My hatching grounds need to be secure.

Picture yourself in the core of the grassland, in the majesty 
of the Victory Falls, wow!-- graced by the presence of the big 5:
the rhino, elephants, lions, leopards, buffalo; hands dirty & caring! 

​With a heart loaded with love
She leapt into the nuptial waters

And whirled as if unlearning to learn
Habits of drowning in spidery chitchats 

That came in several sizes, colors and flavors---
Brown-sugar or fine- salt-begging pleasantries  

And discovered lessons unlearned about love
And the depths and dimensions of nuptial pools

Teachings whose basis for progress was positivity 
Persistence, proof-- not the whispers of the buzzing bees

​They sang and shouted with joy
as he paced about, whispering of godliness 

Suddenly he raised his voice
and approached a young lady

Whose red-painted lips gleamed
with loveliness and chubbiness 

He then declared: I see you demon
Leave her lips, I will suck you out!

His ‘holy’ ones landed on her red ones
He groaned as the congregants shouted ‘amen’

Holy Saints! Maybe that demon was stubborn
For their mouths merged madly till sunset! 

        
Breathlessly he declared victory but added: See me later 
to free you of the last slimy remnants of that monster! 

How could he not be pleased with his powers?
He who helped the ‘heavy-laden’ and ‘barren’ conceive!    

After the labial drama, the pleased Prophet 
ordered his sheep to venture into greener pastures 
 

There the congregants tucked into dishes of snakes--
including a menu of stones and flowers and grass 

They washed down the above with purple petrol
The pleased pastor flashed a batch of flashy cards 
  
“Tickets to Heaven, economy five hundred dollars 
First class… just eight hundred dollars”


They snapped them up, and screamed for more,
Then the Prophet had a vision: an extra lot coming. 

So he paced about, spraying them with a cute chemical--
An insect repellant, maybe a perfume?

The dizzy, desperate crowd couldn’t have cared less.
What effects would all that drinking and eating have?  

Faithfully and obediently they swallowed his poison. 
Swiftly dropping to the floor, praising him with their last.  
 

She pronounced: you’re mine, mine
Prince was about to go lyrical too-
Or is it speak in love tongues? --and say: 
From the very crown of my head, Queen,
To the sole of my feet; I’m thine, thine!
My breath, width and length your oxygen!  

When Queen said medically speaking,
He was lost and needed to be found!
But Queen was like the torrential rains:    
Your range of qualities and purposes
Is simply too impressive to mention 
You`re my natural roll-on and mint 

It was like a song, but she was on song 
She killed it like a soulful gushing guitar 
Prince was beginning to feel and think
Perhaps love had just found him there!
His heart was wowed, pushed to the edge
Maybe that`s where she wanted him to be!

Queen`s artistry had him salivating silly
My evergreen herb which pesters pests 
Oh…I adore your medicinal, culinary 
And ornamental properties and uses 
He deduced he was her specialist doctor
Or her protector and all-oh hurrah to him!     


Counting himself lucky, he tailed her 
She recited: we`re in each other's heart 
You`re my therapeutic, aromatic dearest  
My incense with rare antibacterial qualities   
You help me treat my high blood pressure,
You boost my immunity, my space, my mood 

You treat acme, my natural cough remedy
You embalm my heart with love, my melody
You`re an air repellant that kicks off mold
Plus mosquitoes and mice, that`s an amen!   
Prince was convinced mold meant silly men! 

When his arms were itching to hug her---
His heart bursting to empty its embers--- 
His eyes ululating, dancing on her face---
His ears longing for more of her words---
She paused, and then he shrunk and froze
Upon hearing her state: Thyme repel him!!

​the skin is green
ripe and overgrown
stripped razed and cleared
it browns and begins to whiten

here are the houses and the
school. here is the church
and the ceremony. here are the
tanks and the banners

fire and bullets 
pock mark the skin
flesh and blood soak the soil
houses are abandoned

silence 
slowly the land 
breaks and the roots and
branches bloom

in the sun
bursting and a breeze
pushes the flora and fauna
like unkempt hairs put in place

the yellow scar
is the only keepsake and a
hand brushes over it
feeling no pain
 

​the clouds are thin
a lace cloth stretched over a
blue table
he pulls out what he can

brushing off the soot 
chipping at the char covering
everything inside the car
from the fire 

moving quickly
piling all that is salvageable 
into a small stack
in the weeds

dirty skin and a tattoo of the 
virgin mary
across his back
the tow truck pulls up to take the

remains
he crouches down 
near the driver side door
and lights a cigarette

looking over his shoulder at what
is left of his possessions
waving his hand at the driver as
the car is towed to the yard

he stands in the middle of a halo
black and white rimmed
stubbing his cigarette out in the
asphalt sun

​staring at 
them in their 
lazy agitation

books pressed
to their breasts 
eyes searching
cars passing

honk
smile
wave

hair trailing
like streamers

music blasting
legs pumping
doors opening

she picked at the
grass
picked at her
scab
she picked at her 
nose

shirt
stained
brace correcting
her
scoliosis
creaks
nosily 

they were off
to their boys
their sticky
fumblings
her hair
greasy
covers her eyes
as they all go
home
 

​ 
Marion and Jim 
lived in a pink house
next door to me
Jim dressed in 

a white t-shirt
tucked into
black slacks
hair white and trim

combed with military precision
their lawn 
edged and green
a hobby he worked at

with detail and exactitude
Inside their house my only
memory is as
dim as the lighting

in their living room.
After Jim died, Marion
married Jim's brother
whose name I do not remember

only that the lawn fell into 
disrepair
turning brown with patches of 
dirt, islands in a dead sea

they moved 
after a couple of years
and three families lived in
the pink house

next door
then painted brown
in the summer I 
sat in the garage

smoking and reading
the new neighbor
from Guatemala walked up the
driveway 

to say hello
we sat across from one another
smoking and talking about
Schubert's piano sonatas

his new speakers
and his side job as a DJ 
for parties
I nodded

the sun went down 
and the bulb in the 
garage and the 
occasional flick of a lighter

keep two neighbors company
 
 

​saints in fashion
mingle about the hall
of the white tower
to herald their martyrdom

van dykes and pipe smoke
choke the room 
fire from below bellows
and the sound of the water wheel

churning rhythmically
fusing with the horse cart
plodding down the dirt road 
and the madmen standing

on their pedestals
testifying that the 
apocalypse is close at hand
to the men and women

shopping in the plaza
that cannot hear the 
string quartet readying
to perform Schubert for the

soldier lying on a table
behind a cotton screen
as the amputation commences
he bites down on a 

leather strap to muffle the
screams as to not alarm the
dinner party in the adjacent 
room and the guests

in their fineries 
speaking of the contemporary trends in
microbiology and the simplest method
to remove stains from white linen